OOOKKKKKAAAAAYYYY! I GET IT IM LAZY AND A PROCRASTINATOR! I NEED TO UPDATE MORE-SOOOORRRRRREEEEEEEEE!

Also to make this less confusing for yall- anytime you see this a line break It is the start or end of a flashback.

Have fun with this. I know I did. ;)

P.O.V.-Take a guess XD

"So she's not answering her phone?" Antonio asks.

"No." I mutter, staring at my coffee, swirling in some more sugar.

"She….Erin wouldn't do anything would she? Did you talk to her before she left? Was she more off than usual?" He continues.

"Why are you asking me?" I retort, somewhat annoyed with the whole situation.

"Uhh, don't know if you noticed but finding Erin Lindsay when she doesn't want to be found is near impossible. And seeing as she didn't want to see anyone the past month, I couldn't even tell you when she left never mind, what state of mind she was in." Ruzek says, quickly putting his hands up under both me and Dawson's glare.

"Just sayin." He murmurs, before rolling his eyes and adding "I talked to her last week through text."

"Last I saw her was about three days ago and she wouldn't talk to me so you read into that how you want." Al says adding his two cents.

"So we have no idea where she is or if she's okay?"

I glance around the room before reverting my eyes back to the caffeinated liquid in my hands.

"If she is where I think she is, then calling her a million times isn't going to work. There's shitty cell service up there unless you're using a special network, which I know she isn't." I say quietly, still refusing to look at the room. I know they've noticed, but hey, confidence isn't really my strong suit.

"Well, then. What the hell are we supposed to do?" Dawson looks around the slightly crowded room, watching as everyone averts their gaze. I can understand why. They were all so wrapped up in their own grief no one had time to watch Erin. And now that she's not here and they're not grieving any more they all feel guilty.

Well, sucks to be them, huh.

"Someone could drive up there." Adam says, almost like a question. I sigh, wishing it was that simple.

"Erin is the only person that knows about that cabin and where it is, if someone drove up there she wouldn't care that you were there for her, she'd wonder how the fuck you got up there. It isn't exactly on mapquest." My response seems to add tension to the room, the anger that lies underneath their relief surfacing for a moment.

"Besides you don't even know when she left. Give her another day. If we don't hear anything, you can file her as a missing person. Then you'd have an excuse for tracking her cell phone and all that." I aim the last part at one Hank Voight, who's said nothing the entire time. He throws me a smirk before giving me a once over, frowning at my posture.

"Shut up and sit down before you fall down kid." I gaze at him a moment, still trying to get used to the fact that Hank not only no longer seems to hate me, but also gives a shit what happens to me.

His words actually, not mine. Back when I was delusional from blood lose and couldnt figure out why he was helping me. Apparently I said A LOT of things that night.

I can't remember shit, but hey, I don't deal with things. Well. At all.

"Im okay."

The amount of disbelief pointed at me after I say that is ridiculous. The disbelief which then turns to glares when I keep standing, is no where near amusing.

I sit down.

They go back to discussing, while I chug my coffee. Even though it's been over four weeks since I almost bleed out all over Voight's kitchen table, I'm still not 100%. Then again it's only been two weeks since I really got over the infection. And by got over, I mean I moved past the 'holy-shit-my-body-is-literally-going-to-shut-down-from-this-fucking-fever' stage.

Really though, I'm just glad Voight didn't shoot me when I showed up at his house in the middle of the night. But thinking back to that moment….I kinda had wanted him to.

"I need your help."

"Jay?!" Voight whispered. At that one word any chance of me keeping it together flys out the window.

I break.

"Look, I-I'm sorry I didn't know where else to go and-" I have to stop for a moment because the raw emotional pain has started to mix with the physical and it's making it hard to catch my breath. Hank just stands there, pure shock painted all over his face, the gun pointed at my face never wavering.

"And he was at the funeral, I just couldn't, I couldn't do it, I tried but...I can't.." I've started to sob at this point, my grip on reality starting to slip. There's a clicking noise as Voight switches the safety off, gently placing the gun to lean in the corner.

"You can't what Jay?" He asks, slowly taking small steps toward my chair that I'm currently leaking blood all over.

I inhale deeply and hold it, staring him straight in the eye before saying in the calmest voice probably since Will was shot.

"I can't die. I tried, I thought-" I have to inhale again, but I can't, it's like I'm choking on the air and I just can't hold on anymore. Instinctively I had leaned forward to try to breath, and now, as the rest of my body relaxes, I slid to the floor, landing on my hands and knees.

"I dont want to die!" My anguished whispers echoes across the near empty house, mixing with my desperate attempts to breathe. My body has almost shut down completely and I'm about to be completely collapsed on the white carpet when an arm wraps around my back, another pressing against my chest. The arms are strong and manage to drag me to my feet.

I stumble, giving everything I have just to stay standing and conscious.

"Jay." 'Voight.' I think, identifying the voice and the arms that hold me upright.

"Jay, look at me." I shake my head, no, I do not want, I am afraid of what I will see there. A hand gently tilts my face upward, forcing me to stare back at my boss. Or. Ex-boss.

"You're going to be okay. Understand me? It's going to be okay." Voight tells me in that voice where it's like anything he says is true.

I had believed him too. I had. Of course, I wasn't really thinking coherently at that point. Or thinking in general. If I had I would have gone to a god damn hospital instead of making Voight try and save my ass.

I let out a sigh then bring my feet upon the couch, splaying out across the length of the couch. One thing I definitely haven't caught up on-sleep. Between the nightmares and trying to beat down the sickness, I'm always exhausted all the time. As I lay down, I get more than a couple worried glances from the team, although they ultimately go back to discussing Lindsay. The conversation slowly turns to a low murmur then nothing as I plunge into the black abyss that is sleep.

Voight's P.O.V.

"So we're waiting till tomorrow then?" Antonio asks, looking pointedly at me. I shrug.

"Guess we have to." I ground out, my gaze never leaving the zonked figure on the couch. Not that I plan on waking him up, the dark circles under his eyes and skin almost as white as the shirt he wears pretty clear indicators that he needs all the rest he can get. That and the fact that he's ran a low fever on and off the past two weeks. I say low because when compared to wear he was, a 101 would be low.

Al follows my gaze then glances at me. He puts a hand on my arm.

"C'mon, we can talk in the kitchen. He'll be fine."

Reluctantly I follow him and the rest of what's left of intelligence, to go stand in the next room. There's a small silence where Al and Antonio kind of just have this silent conversation. Dawson seems to win, because Olinski is the next to speak.

"Voight, don't you think...maybe we should take to a hospital. I mean it's been two weeks and he's still not over that infection. If he's ever going to get back on the force-"

"When he gets his badge back, he will be back in intelligence and trust me when I say that'll only happen when he's ready not a minute sooner." I stare back at Al, then at Antonio, daring either of them to contradict me. Dawson, unfortunately does.

"Yes, but what if we're in the middle of a fire fight or he has to shoot someone?" My eyes narrow on their own, my suspicions starting to rouse.

"What are you getting at?" I ask the two of them, though it's Ruzek who answers, his arms crossed across his chest as he leans on the old wooden table sitting in the middle on the kitchen.

"We want to know if he any signs of PTSD. If we were in a shoot out, if he hesitated because he was in the middle of a flashback, he could himself and us hurt or worse." I actually have to rein myself in as to not say anything, because if I did, it would not be a pretty time. Instead I try and digest the rookies words while staring at the table. I cleaned it the best I could but, you can still see the spots his blood didn't touch.

I mean it's not a huge table, but I seriously never want to see that much exit my detectives body ever again.

"C'mon kid, let's get you cleaned up." I slip my right arm around his midsection, repositioning my left to get a better grip under his shoulder. After basically dragging him to the kitchen, I'm about to sit him in a chair when my right hand registers the dampness on the upper left of his abdomen. Looking down, I peel my hand away, groaning at the blood covering it.

Abandoning the chair, I just about have to throw him onto the table, thankful that I never use it, so I don't have to move anything. Once Jay is splayed out on the table, I rush around the round oakwood, pushing is shoulders so his head is fully on the table, moving his arms and kicking chairs out of the way.

Finally, he's fully on the table minus his feet, and I can clearly see where the blood is seeping from. A bullet tore its way through the soft flesh right above the stomach, but also right below the ribs. My hands float above the wound for a second as I look at Jay. He didn't resist when I moved him, and only offered the occasional moan of pain.

"Don't freak out okay, I'm gonna take your shirt off." I mutter. Reaching up I grab the hem of his black t-shirt and pull, ripping the ruined shirt in two. Doing the same for the sleeves, I manage to pull the bloody rag out from underneath him. As I move I spare a glance to Jay. At the moment he is conscious but only just, his half lidded eyes gazing at nothing. Whipping around I grab a towel and as a second thought i snatch my cell up from the counter. Returning to Jay who has started to steadily moan and whimper, I press the bunched up towel to the wound and I press hard. Halstead just groans louder, twisting his head from side to side.

I flip my cell phone open and speed dial Olinksi. Throwing it on speaker I place it next to Jay's legs, waiting anxiously as it rings.

"ALVIN!" I yell, startling Halstead into awareness for a few moments.

"Woah, Hank, what's going on? Are you okay?" Al's voice is grainy coming out of the tired speaker but it does manage to put me at ease.

"O, I found Jay. I need your help, he's in bad shape."

"What?! Jay's alive?!"

"Not for much longer, when can you get to my house?!"

"I'm kind of drunk so I took a cab home from molly's, my car's still there. I could get the subway but I wouldn't be there for another hour at least."

"He doesn't have that long."

"Okay, okay, where's he injured?"

"Gunshot wound to the left torso, missed the ribs and I don't think it hit the stomach.

"And I take it you can't take him to a hospital."

"By the time an ambo got here, he'll have bleed out. Plus...If he wanted a hospital he's have gone to one not my house."

"Alright, check to see if he has an exit wound." Choosing to keep one hand on the now bloody dish rag, I use that hand and roll Jay's body slightly, biting my lip at the agonized sob that falls from his mouth as I do so.

"No, there's no exit wound." There is a slight pause before Al responds.

"You need to get the bullet out."

"WHAT?!"

"Unless you want him to go into sepsis shock, you need to get that bullet out. Look if it's where you said it was, it shouldn't be as hard as you think, just painful as hell. You got a needle and thread?"

I nod at first, then realize that he can't see me I respond verbally.

"Good. Go get it. You're going to need some more towels too, and the sharpest knife you have. And grab a bottle of liquor, pure vodka if you have it."

"What about keeping pressure on it?"

"Well, if you run fast enough, you shouldn't have to worry about him losing to much blood." Instantly abandoning the soaked cloth, I dash around the kitchen, marveling at the fact that all of the supplies are in the same damn room. Dragging a chair close with my foot, I dump the towel and small emergency sewing kit I've keep in the cabinet ever since Erin almost cut her finger off on accident when she was a kid.

Guessing what the vodka was for, I pour some over my small but extremely sharp paring knife, not really concerned about placing it next to Jay's hand, until my own hand comes back bloody. The deep red color of the dish rag telling me it's soaked through. Quickly replacing it, I slam both hands back onto the covered bullet hole, eliciting a sharp yell from Halstead.

Well, at least he's still conscious.

"Now what?!"

"Use the alcohol to sterilize the knife. And get his shirt off"

"Did that."

"Did you thread the needle?"

"Why the hell would I do that now?!"

"Because when you finally find out what the bullet hit to stop the bleeding, you're not going to want to stop to thread a god damn needle."

Growling, I resolve to press my forearms against the padding, effectively slowing the bleeding while keeping my hands free to thread the fucking needle. And let me tell you, if you thought threading a needle normally was hard, doing it while leaning over your dying detectives body knowing no help is going to come for at least an hour with adrenaline making your hands shake it is a million times harder. Nearing on impossible.

On the hundredth try I finally get it, sending silent praise to Camille for forcing me learn how to tie a damn threading knot.

"You're a cop. You never know when you need to be able to use a needle and thread." Her exact words.

"Okay, I got it." I yell in elation when it's finally threaded tight and sterilized.

Nothing.

"Alvin?" Suddenly the door slams.

"Hank!" Jerking my head up, I'm left in utter shock for the second time this night.

"Wha-how- You said you couldn't be here for another hour!" I exclaim as my long time friend shrugs his jacket off.

"I took a cab. Genius idea right." Alvin wastes no time, moving straight to opposite side of the table, rolling up his sleeves. He ends up next to Jay's head, carefully placing a hand on the side of Halstead's neck and tilting Jay's face toward his own. It is now that I notice my detective's closed eyes and quiet demeanor, quite different than earlier.

"Jay. Hey buddy I know you're shot and all but you gotta wake up for me alright? C'mon kid open your eyes." My hands keep pressure while Alvin talks, gently tapping Halstead's face trying to get a response. He glances at me, taking in the saturated dishrag, the blood covering my hands and slowly seeping onto the table.

"Alright we gotta do this fast before he's too far gone. Switch places with me, and hold down his shoulders." Nodding, I rush to the other side of the table, Alvin quickly taking my spot and using one hand to hold pressure, the other grabbing the open bottle of liquor. He glances at me.

"Ready?" I push my weight onto Halstead's shoulders.

"Let's do it." Olinski pulls the towel off and throws it behind him before pouring the clear alcohol straight into the gory hole somehow still spilling blood. Jay's body turns rock solid as all his muscles tense with the pain. A scream crawls its way through gritted teeth, making me look down in relief to see Halstead's eyes, albeit slightly watery, are open.

"Jay, you're doing fine, just relax.' I say the words in a soft voice, surprising even myself. Jay seems to latch on to my words. I glance at Alvin, who looks down to the knife then back at me.

"Keep talking." He whispers. I turn back to my broken detective.

"Listen. Listen we have to get the bullet out Okay? We're going to cut the wound open a little, then go in and-" At that moment Al pushed the blade of the knife into Jay's skin, cutting a small 'x' over the bullet hole. Halstead tenses again, I can see him trying hard not to make any noise.

Al throws some Vodka on his hands.

"Alright Jay you ready?" He asks. Neither of us are expecting an answer and we don't get one. I'm not even sure Jay heard him. I watch as Olinski takes a deep breath then puts his fingers into Halstead's abdomen. I feel Halstead inhale deeply, then hear as he lets out this horrible agony filled scream that fills the house and reverberates in my bones.

"Holy shit, I think I almost got it." Al says after a minute, twisting his fingers a little. The choked scream that emanates from Jay sounds like that of a dying animal. His body twists, desperately trying to move away from the pain. Suddenly his body goes limp, eyes fluttering for a moment before sliding shut completely.

"He's out." I report. There's a small *tink* and I look up in time to see Alvin turning back around, a small piece of lead sitting on the counter, blood coating it. The bullet.

"Good. Just make sure he keeps breathing, this is gonna hurt even more. I gotta stitch him up."

There's this moment after he says this where I look at Al and he looks at me, both of us breathing heavy as we realize that our teammate, our detective, was not only Alive, but now has literally put his life in our hands. Then it's over and I'm pushing my fingers against Halstead neck for a pulse and Olinski has his hands back in the wound, using the needle to sew whatever the bullet hit.

Finally Olinski leans back, dropping the needle then picking up a towel and starts to mop up the blood off of jay's abdomen. Peering over, I stare in a wonderful fascination at the able to see a line of neat stitches crossing the angry flesh.

"How's he doing?" The question startles me out my revere, forcing me to notice how pale Jay is. Hell I have white shirts with more color in them. However as I'm watching, his breath hitches for a moment before picking up slightly. I focus on Jays face, surprised to see to see two blue orbs staring back at me.

"Jay? Hey, can you hear me?" I ask, concerned at the amount of confusion that clouds his eyes. Olinksi continues cleaning, picking up the soaked towels and chucking them in the trash. Halsteads eyes struggle to focus on me, lazily flicking around as he scans the room before setting back on me.

"Wh't'r you doin?" He mumbles, weakly pawing at the towel covering his stitches. I catch his hand just as O comes back into the kitchen. Surprised I stare at him, a question on my face. I never even saw him leave. He holds up some gauze and medical tape.

"Found this in your bathroom. He awake?" I nod, turning back to answer Halsteads question.

"We're gonna put some dressing on your wound. You were shot, remember? We got the bullet out and stitched you up." The confused look stays on his face, my relief at his consciousness turning to worry. With that much blood loss... I doubt he's going to be coherent. His next question though, throws a curveball.

"But why 'r you h'lpin' me?" He slurs out, eyes flickering for a moment but ultimately staying open to gaze at me. I swallow hard before responding.

"Because I give a shit what happens to ya kid." His eyes, if anything widen a little more, staring at me with a broken innocence.

"Why?" He mumbles again. I look desperately to Al, who has finished taping the gauze to Jays skin.

"Why wouldn't we help you Jay?" He asks softly, wiping his hands off with the last semi clean dish towel I grabbed. Halstead doesn't respond at first, choosing instead to take several semi deep breathes. I'm starting to think he isn't going to respond at all, until the pained whisper slips from his mouth, and I know he's lost.

"They we'r m-my fault. N-Nadia 'nd Will an 'Rin quitting. I-I d'nt deserve yu'r h'lp." I sigh, shaking my head.

"No Jay that's not-Nadia isn't on you. That'll never be on you. Neither is Will. There was nothing you could have done, okay. And you are the reason for Lindsay coming back, not leaving."

He seems to completely ignore my words, just continues to ramble and I start to wonder if he's even really with us, or just mumbling to himself in his own delusional world.

"Sh-she w'nt out, I coulda st'p'ed her, I should h've s-st'p'ed 'er...sh'd 'av..." We watch in sad silence as Halstead goes quiet, his eyes skidding shut for the second time tonight. Al checks his pulse again, nodding in satisfaction. I breath out heavily, the reality of what has happened catching up to me.

I stare at Olinski.

"You stuck your fingers inside his abdomen." The sentence is more like a question than a statement. He gives a short bark of laughter.

"Yeah, that was the grossest thing I've had to do in while."

"Voight?"

"He'll be fine!" I snap at Antonio. "He just has to get back on his feet and Lindsay can help him do that."

"Assuming she doesn't flip out and hold a grudge against him." I stare incredulously at my Olinksi.

"Oh, now you're against me on this?! Jay deserves his badge. Remind me of one time where you saw otherwise."

"When he dragged a shard of glass down my arm and kneed me in the head." Ruzek deadpans, Alvin slapping him upside the head afterwards.

"What? It's true." Adam's older partner sighs.

"That wasn't Jay. You know that. Besides he barely remembers anything from that night." He turns the conversation back to me.

"And I never said I was against you, I do want Jay to get his badge back and soon but I'm just saying Erin might be a little pissed off that everyone else found out before she did. That's kinda the reason he didn't want us to tell her in the first place, the kid's scare shitless of that girl."

I smirk. "Aren't we all?" This earns a round of short laughter, temporarily lightening the mood. I decide to finally answer Adam's question.

"The only sign of any post traumatic stress has been his inability to sleep and that's because of the nightma-" I'm cut off abruptly by the blood curling scream that ripes its way through the house from the living room. The scream I have come to know that means this was one of the worse ones.

The one full of terror and pain and raw emotional agony.

The one that means Jay Halstead won't talk for the next hour because he's trying to discern reality from his internal hell.

The one that means my resurrected detective is one the brink of defeat once more.

GUYS! That was the longest chapter to date of this story. Over four thousand words. Also I did this in like two days so I apologize for any stupid weird sentences. Also, I want to apologize for the two month spans over updates, its just that I think my writing is shit so I rewrite a lot of my stuff and I have like zero motivation most the time.

AND OH MY GOD THAT PROMO NO OKAY IM SORRY EVERYONES BEEN FREAKING ON TUMBLR BUT COME ON THATS GOING TO BE THE BEST FUCKING EPISODE AND JAY AND OH MY JESUS OK NO

*AHEM* get a hold of ones self. Sorry. Pictures of Jay halstead being cute for every review. :)